HELEN: The Wine Dark Sea

"No, I meant only to startle you." She slid off her pony, sat down in the tall grass and leaned back on her elbows. "Did you know we lived so close to each other?"

He had not dared ask his father about her and risk being teased, or more likely, scolded for thinking of girls at his age. "No, but I'd not have gone to visit you even if I had."

She twisted a handful of her dark curls as she spoke. "Why not? Do you spend all of your days talking to cows that don't answer?"

"No, I play my panpipe rather than talk."

"My pony loves the panpipe. Please play something for him."

The instrument lay by his foot, and he bent down to scoop it up. "I don't feel like playing now."

"You'll play a tune for your herd, but not for my beautiful pony?"

He studied the pony with a thoughtful glance. It looked very old and tired rather than beautiful to him. The plants threaded into his mane made him look as though he'd traveled through the wilds alone, but he did not want to hurt her feelings by saying so. "How can you tell?"

"He pricks his ears forward to better hear a tune. Don't you know anything about horses?"

"We own a few to ride when tending cattle."

"I don't see any horses." She stood and brushed off the back of her baggy clothes.

"They are with the larger herd grazing on land on the opposite side of our cottage."

She took the reins and swung herself up on her pony's back. "I'm gathering herbs for my aunt Chrisoula. She's teaching me to use them to make cures for all manner of troubling illnesses."

"But it's the gods who send sickness. That's why we make sacrifices to keep them content."

She regarded him with a condescending stare. "There are people who fall ill who couldn't possibly have offended the gods. Some suffer accidents or are wounded in mishaps, and my aunt tends them. Now I must be on my way, and it's your turn to come and visit me."

He watched her go, and noted the direction, but uttered no promise of any kind. His job was to watch this herd, not run about the valley with little girls. He had wished for a friend, but Oenone wasn't what he'd imagined at all. He'd learned the patience to watch his family's stock, and she jumped around like a frightened hare. If her people really did own sheep, he doubted they would allow her tend them.

* * *

Agelaus heard the sound of a panpipe as he came to the meadow in the late afternoon. He also played, but he had never learned more than the songs his father had taught him. Paris had far more talent and made up his own tunes. His mother loved to hear him play, but this music was slow and melancholy, and Agelaus didn't want her to hear such sad music.

"Has it not been a good day?" he asked as he approached the son he loved so dearly. "The cattle look content."

"Everyday is the same," Paris replied, "which is good for the herd." Oenone's visit had made the day unlike any other, but more perplexed than happy, he wouldn't smile and give his father cause to wonder why.

"Perhaps it's time for you to tend the larger herd. I'll find a pony for you, and you can come with me. Cattle can run as fast as a horse when frightened. A herdsman must also protect them from predators and poachers, but you've had no such threats here."

Paris's eyes lit with joy. "May I go with you when you lead cattle to the citadel? I want to see the king."

Agelaus laughed, but he would never allow such a trip. "You are much too young, but King Priam doesn't concern himself with cattle, so you'll miss nothing by staying at home."

"But someday I may go?"

"We'll have to wait and see." He had moved his family closer to Mt. Ida where the pastures were rich and thick. Some thought the gods had blessed the land, especially the highest peak now crowned with a glowing golden cloud, but Agelaus didn't dwell upon them. Instead, he thanked only himself for having the courage to keep Paris alive. He believed no evil would come from having saved the life of such a handsome boy.

* * *

Paris fought to hide his disappointment when Agelaus returned from the village with a gray pony that had seen far too many winters to make him proud, but he knew his father could not afford a finer mount. He loved his parents too dearly to reveal his desire for more than they could give, which added a deep layer of guilt to his sorrow.

"You must learn to ride him before you attempt to herd more cattle," his father announced. "Today, ride around the meadow, and take great care not to frighten our stock. When you're comfortable on your horse's back, I'll give you a chance with the larger herd."

"Yes, Father. I'll do a good job." He'd been shown how to use the reins to turn the pony and how to stop him with a gentle tug. Thinking he knew all there was to know, he rode out to the meadow and circled the herd he thought of as his own in ever widening rings. His hound trotted along beside him, wagging his tail, perhaps equally glad to do something new. The day was warm, and stifling a yawn, Paris imagined himself to be a powerful king marshalling his armor-clad warriors for battle. With such placid charges, he could lose himself in dreams of heroic adventure without any fear there would be something he'd miss.

He patted his pony's neck and nudged him on each time he stopped to graze. He hoped keeping a careful watch on their herd might be far more exciting, but he really looked forward to the day they would drive their cattle to Troy. He couldn't wait to see King Priam's palace even if he would never be invited inside the royal precinct. Knowing somewhere splendor existed, beautiful women and coffers of jewels and gold, filled his imagination to overflowing. He thought people everywhere must know of the great beauty and wealth of legendary Troy.